Helga's Problem
by darkdork13
Summary: When Helga sees Bob slap Miriam late one night, she runs away and finds herself on Arnold's doorstep. Her emotions are running too high to keep under wraps, and Arnold begins to see another side of Helga that he never thought existed.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is my first "Hey Arnold!" fic, and I only recently started rewatching the show, so it's possible I've forgotten some details from the various seasons. Please let me know if I have. I used to loooove HA!, and I always adored Helga and cheered her on in her self-sabotaging pursuit of Arnold. I know what it's like to be a kid with a crush who expresses it in stupid, counterproductive ways, so maybe I identified with her. Anyway, I've recently rediscovered my love for the show, and I started writing this story after watching the movie for the first time. SPOILERS for HA!TM.

* * *

Helga Pataki was awakened by muffled noises coming from downstairs. She grumbled and looked at her alarm clock. It was after 11:30 at night. What was going on down there? Were Bob and Miriam arguing again?

_If you can even call it arguing, _she thought, her grogginess not hampering her resentment. _It's not like Miriam ever really fights back. It's just Bob yelling at the Human Jellyfish._

She waited for the sounds to stop, but they only faded in and out as the voices rose and fell. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore. She slipped on the shoes that she had discarded nearby when she got changed for bed and stomped out of her room.

The farther she got down the hall, the louder the noises got. She could tell now it _was_ her parents arguing, and her mom was actually throwing in her two cents this time. Despite her annoyance, Helga felt a little bit better knowing her mother might actually be standing up for herself.

She was halfway down the stairs when she spotted her parents in the dining room, her mother in the midst of shouting.

"…and what makes you think you can just order me around, anyway?! Just because I'm the woman and you're the man? I'm not just your wife, you know, I'm a person too! And if you can't appreciate that, maybe I should just pack up and leave!"

Before Helga could make a sound, Bob raised his hand and slapped Miriam hard across the face. She fell to the floor, holding her cheek in shock. The room went deathly silent.

Helga forgot to breathe.

Finally, she sucked in a ragged, involuntary breath. Her parents both whirled to look at her, stunned. They hadn't even noticed she was there.

"Olga," Bob said under his breath. "Olga, honey, it's not what it looks like—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Helga tore down the stairs and out the front door. She didn't know where she was going, but she wasn't going to stay there. Never again…

She fled blindly down the street, crying harder and harder, paying no attention to the dark and the cold. No one would care if anything happened to her, anyway. And it wasn't as if home was any safer than the street now.

_I'm such a coward…I watched him hit my own mother and I didn't do anything to stop him…_

…_But I shouldn't have to!! I'm just a kid, and she's my mother! SHE'S supposed to protect ME!_

She felt overwhelmed with fear, anger, and guilt. Not just because she hadn't stopped Bob, but because deep in the back of her mind, where she didn't even want to look, there was a part of her that understood _wanting_ to hit her mother. She shook her head forcefully. _That doesn't mean I'd ever do it, though. I am NOT my dad! I am NOT Bob!! I'm not I'm not I'm not…_

Helga ran until her sides hurt so badly she couldn't breathe. Oblivious to where she was, she collapsed at the bottom of some steps and gasped for air. No sooner had she caught her breath than she started sobbing uncontrollably.

She lay in a heap on the dirty steps for who knew how many minutes. _Does it even matter how long I stay here?_ she thought. _It's not like I have any other plans..._

Suddenly, a hand fell lightly on her shoulder. Helga gasped and pulled away from whoever was trying to grab her. She turned, ready to fight, only to see Arnold's angelic football-shaped face looking at her with deep concern. Her heart caught in her throat. Of all the people to run into, she _would_ pick the one person she both most and least wanted to see right now…

"Geez, Football Head, what're you tryin' to do, give me a heart attack?" She tried to sound like her usual self, but her body hadn't yet gotten the message from her brain to stop crying, and her voice shook noticeably.

"Sorry, Helga. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?" He knew it was a dumb question, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Do I _look_ okay to you?" She cringed as soon as she said it. Now he was going to ask what was wrong. She should have lied…made up something about having taken up jogging. Late-night pajama-clad jogging…

"No, you _don't_ look okay. Come on, come inside. It's too cold to be out here without a coat on."

Helga stood, still catching her breath, and glared at her unwanted rescuer. She wanted to say something sarcastic and get out of his sight as quickly as possible so she could suffer in peace. But there was a part of her that wanted exactly the opposite, and it was being incredibly insistent. She shivered.

"_Fine._ I guess I can come in for…wait a minute, I'm at your house?"

"Well, yeah. You mean you didn't come here on purpose?"

"Why on _Earth_ would I do _that_, Arnoldo?" (_Why DID I do that?_ she wondered.)

"I don't know, you tell me," he replied with a hint of annoyance. He hated to see anyone so upset—even Helga—but she was a very difficult person to comfort.

Suddenly she sighed and said the last thing he would have expected. "Sorry, Arnold. I don't know how I got here, okay? I just started running and then I had to stop, and I guess I stopped here. Can we go inside now?"

Surprised, he nodded and reached out to help her up the steps. She flinched almost imperceptibly, but she allowed him to chivalrously steady her at the elbow and open the door for her. He guided her to the kitchen and offered her a chair. She sat down silently and stared at the table, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"You want some hot cocoa? I was getting ready to make some when I heard…well, when I noticed you were outside."

_Oh, Arnold, how like you to be a gentleman and not point out that I was lying prostrate on your steps, weeping like a pitiful child,_ Helga thought bitterly. She scowled. "Sure, whatever."

As Arnold busied himself heating some milk and spooning cocoa and sugar into two mismatched mugs, Helga became increasingly anxious. She wished she were still out on the sidewalk, with no one paying any attention to her or her tears. At least when no one cared about you, you didn't have to answer anyone's questions. You didn't have to choose between revealing your weaknesses to them or further convincing them that you were a cold, unfeeling monster whom they could never love…

"Here you go." Arnold smiled as he placed a steaming mug in front of Helga. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the delicious, chocolaty scent hit her nose. Her stomach growled, and she blushed.

"What, no whipped cream? Don't expect a tip from _me,_ bucko," she said in an attempt to cover her embarrassment. But her usual venom was lacking, and Arnold seemed to notice. His worried smile didn't fade.

"You must be hungry. Grandpa made some cookies earlier tonight. Do you like chocolate chip?"

"What kind of question is that? Who _doesn't_ like chocolate chip?"

Without another word, Arnold rummaged around in a cupboard and came back to the table with a tin full of slightly over-browned cookies. He took one and then slid the tin toward Helga, who grabbed it and devoured three or four cookies so fast Arnold wondered how she managed not to choke. Normally he would have rolled his eyes at such uncouth behavior and taken it as another display of her greedy selfishness. But he was starting to wonder if there was more to her behavior than met the eye. After all, she had been sobbing on his doorstep in the middle of the night, and she was obviously really hungry, as if she hadn't eaten dinner…maybe she wasn't _trying_ to be selfish. Maybe her selfishness was more like…self-preservation.

"Do I have something on my face?" He suddenly realized Helga was glaring at him, her cheeks slightly pink.

"What?"

"You're staring at me like I just grew a second head."

"Oh! Sorry. I was just…thinking."

"Hmph." She slurped some of her cocoa and then grabbed two more cookies, but she nibbled one this time instead of stuffing it in her mouth. Her stomach had become less demanding.

"I'll have to tell Grandpa you really liked his cookies," Arnold said, smiling.

"NO!" He jumped a little at Helga's forceful response. "I mean…don't tell him I was here, okay? I don't need him callin' up Big Bob to ask why I was out here after midnight."

"Oh. Okay." Arnold's brow furrowed. If she was out this late, crying (something he had thought she was incapable of), and didn't want her parents to know where she was…was it because she thought she'd get in trouble, or were they the reason she was upset?

"Look, I know it's not any of my business," he said carefully, "but if you want to talk about anything, I'm here. And if there's anything I can do to help…"

"Well there's _not,_ Football Head," she said with a scowl. "Even if I _wanted_ to talk to you—which I _don't_, because there's nothing _wrong_—what would you be able to do about my problems? You don't know anything about how the real world works, buddy boy. _Your_ world is all rainbows and sunshine, and whenever it's _not,_ you don't give up until you've _made_ it that way." _That's what I love about you,_ she thought tenderly.

"Helga." Arnold glared at her. "Don't start that again. You know my life isn't any more perfect than anyone else's. I just try to be optimistic. It makes it easier to deal with the bad stuff."

"Pfft," Helga said dismissively. "Oh, well, if only I could be as optimistic as _you,_ Arnold, I'm sure everything would be alllll better. I'm sure if I were _optimistic_ I could just waltz home tonight and my parents would be waiting for me with nine birthday cakes and a stack of presents to make up for all the ones they forgot to give me over the years. If I were _optimistic,_ my folks would win the lottery, my sister would stop being so perfect, my dad would remember my name, and maybe he'd even apologize for…" Helga suddenly bit her lip, cutting off her increasingly loud outburst. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with her hands, fighting back stinging new tears. Why had she said all that stuff?! She could feel herself shaking and cursed herself for it. _Of all the places to have a breakdown, why here? Why now?_

"Helga?" Arnold's voice was full of concern. She felt his hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She shuddered. No, she couldn't let this happen…

"Don't touch me, you freak!" she yelled, jumping out of her chair. She had to get out of there…she had to run…

Then Arnold's arms were around her, holding her firmly. His head tilted up to rest his chin on her tall shoulder. One hand rubbed her back soothingly. Her whole body went rigid, then shook uncontrollably.

_Arnold…no, I don't want you to see me like this…I have to get away, let go…_

She struggled with herself, wanting to throw him off of her, but it seemed no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't will herself to move. Arnold was holding her, trying to comfort her, making at least part of her fantasies come true… She didn't _want_ him to let go.

One tear managed to escape her tightly closed eyes, and as it trickled down her cheek it seemed to take the rest of her resolve with it. With a shuddering sob, she leaned into Arnold's embrace and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her loss of control fed her growing feeling of panic, and she cried harder. She had never felt so terrified. _Any minute now,_ _he's going to realize how pathetic I am. He's going to push me away and tell me to suck it up and get out of his sight. He's going to turn out to be just like everyone else…_

But instead, he stepped closer to her and squeezed her gently. "It's okay, Helga. It's okay. I'm here."

She felt her knees go soft, and the two of them sank to the floor, still holding each other. The house was silent except for Helga's muffled sobs and quiet, comforting sounds from Arnold. They both lost track of time as they sat there together.

Arnold's head was spinning. This was not the Helga he knew at all. The Helga he knew was abrasive and mean and would sooner punch his lights out than cry on his shoulder. But a nagging thought reminded him of the last time she had had an emotional outburst in his presence, that stormy morning on top of the FTI building a few months ago. He had been so stunned by her declaration of love and her unexpected kiss that he had been unable to explain it as anything other than the result of an incredibly stressful situation. There was no way she could have meant all that stuff with the way she treated him day after day. And when he offered her an out, she took it gleefully and was back to her spitball-shooting, Football Head–hating self in no time. But still…ever since then, in the back of his mind, he had no longer been sure that Helga was who he thought she was. Even if she _did_ go back to being a jerk afterward, she had helped him and Gerald so much as Deep Voice. If it hadn't been for her, their neighborhood would be a shopping mall right now. No matter how many spitballs he had to comb out of his hair, he would always be grateful to her for that.

In a strange way, her help with saving the neighborhood had made her asinine behavior since then both less and more annoying. On one hand, he had to smile every time he thought of what she'd done, and he thought of it every time he looked at her. But on the other hand, he couldn't understand why she would go to such great lengths to hide such unselfish actions, but make a big show of being a bully all the time. Why would anyone want to be known for their worst traits and hide their best ones?? It made absolutely no sense. _She_ made no sense.

_But it must make sense to her,_ a little voice in his head whispered. _She clearly has feelings, even though she tries to hide them. Maybe she's just afraid._

_Afraid of what?_ he asked himself.

_Afraid that no one cares how she feels anyway._

His mind was silent for a moment. _I have to admit, if what she said about her parents is true…that does make sense._

He suddenly realized that Helga had become quiet. She was still sniffling, but her sobs had stopped, and she was shaking considerably less. He found himself strangely hesitant to let go of her, though.

A few minutes passed before she pulled back from him stiffly. Her face was red and blotchy, and her eyes were swollen. She kept them focused on the floor.

"I should be getting home, Football Head. I'm really tired, and Bob and Miriam probably already have the cops out lookin' for me." She paused and laughed half-heartedly. "Who am I kidding, they're probably both passed out by now."

"You know…you can stay here tonight if you need to, Helga."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. "Really? I mean…don't be stupid, I—"

"It's okay if you don't want to," he said quickly. "But…if you don't want to go home right away, I have a couch in my room that Gerald sleeps on when he stays over. You could have it for tonight. Or not, if you don't want to. That's cool, too." He didn't know what had possessed him to make such an offer, but he found himself sort of hoping she'd accept. He didn't like to think of her walking home by herself this late…

She stared at him blankly, wondering whether she had heard him correctly. _Did he just offer me his couch? In his ROOM? As in, to SLEEP on?_

"Uh…thanks, Football Head, but…um…I really should get home…"

"Well…okay, if you're sure. But—"

"_Fine,_ you big dork; if you're too scared of the dark to walk me home, I guess I'll stay." She managed to put some of her old spunk into her words, even though she was feeling pretty exhausted. _Let him think he's doing me a big favor,_ she thought. _He doesn't need to know how desperately I want to snuggle into that warm, comfy couch that so sumptuously reeks of his dirty socks…_

"Great! I mean, fine. Come on, I'll take you up." Arnold stood and helped Helga to her feet, noticing the corner of her mouth twitching as if she were holding back a smile. He turned away quickly, afraid of being accused of staring again, and led her up the stairs.

She stood in the middle of his bedroom, gazing around at his shelves full of books and knick-knacks as he carefully made up the little couch. She had never been in his room with his knowledge and consent before. It felt very strange. She found herself crossing her arms nervously as if she were worried about getting caught. _Old habits die hard... _

"There you go," Arnold said, fluffing a spare pillow that he had tossed onto the couch. "Should be pretty comfortable."

"I should hope so if you're making me sleep on it," she retorted. She flopped down on the couch as if she owned it, turning over to punch the pillow once before she laid her head on it. The second she wiggled under the blanket, she felt her eyes begin to close.

_Criminey, running across town in the middle of the night and then crying my eyes out with the love of my life is hard work,_ she thought with a yawn. She didn't realize Arnold was standing over her until she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Helga." He smiled and gave her shoulder a pat before turning toward his bed. Her mouth opened, ready to throw a sarcastic barb after him, but she stopped herself. _Can't you just enjoy him being nice to you and not punish him for it for once?_

"Goodnight, Footba–…I mean…goodnight, Arnold."

Arnold smiled warmly at her from across the room before turning out the light. It was enough to turn her heart completely into goo. She snuggled in under the covers (which smelled like Arnold's fabric softener) and allowed herself a contented sigh, hoping it wasn't too loud.

Arnold lay on his side, facing the couch. He couldn't see Helga in the dark, but he heard her sigh quietly, and his smile lingered. She had actually stopped herself from calling him Football Head and called him by his name. That was progress.

He knew this couldn't last, though. Tomorrow, he hoped, she would feel better…and then it would be back to tormentor versus tormented. But then, wouldn't that mean he had helped? If she felt like her old self, maybe that was a good sign. He just wished she could be happy and actually _act_ happy. He wished she could just act like a friend. Because if she could, she might turn out to be a really good one.

With that thought, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Arnold awoke to the sound of his alarm. He fumbled with the miniature football-shaped head until it stopped chirping his name. He blinked and wondered groggily where that annoying half-snorting, half-whistling noise was coming from. Then he remembered Helga was sleeping on his couch.

He sat up with a start and looked over at the snoring lump of blankets with a tuft of yellow hair sticking out. He barely suppressed a snort of laughter. _Helga is actually kind of cute when she's sleeping,_ he thought. Then he immediately shook his head. _I mean, not THAT kind of cute. Just cute like…like a puppy or something. Yeah, that's it. A puppy that chews your favorite shoes and then laughs at you about it…_

He climbed out of bed and tiptoed over to the little sofa. It was Thursday, but he wondered if Helga was really up for going to school. No matter what she said, her parents had to be worried about her. Maybe she should just go home and have them tell the school she was sick. He reached out to wake her, but then hesitated. As obnoxious as her snoring was, she looked so comfortable there. She even had a tiny smile on her face. _I'll just let her sleep for a little while longer. I have to get ready for school anyway…_

He quietly gathered some clothes to put on and headed to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. He'd leave Helga alone until he had gotten himself dressed and eaten breakfast. If she was still asleep, he'd have a chance to tell Grandpa what was going on without her getting angry. Grandpa could keep a secret.

...........................

"You mean you let your little friend with the one eyebrow stay here all night, and you didn't tell her parents?! Arnold, they're probably worried sick by now!"

"Shhh, Grandpa, not so loud! I know I probably should have called them, but…she was really upset, and I thought maybe…her parents might be the reason why. I couldn't makeher go home by herself in the middle of the night…"

"Well, you did what you thought was best, Short Man," his grandpa said with a sigh. "And maybe you were right. That Big Bob Pataki never struck me as father of the year. But still, she has to go home today. They might have put her on a missing persons list by now!"

"I know, Grandpa. Just…don't let her know you know she was here, okay? And by the way," he added, smiling, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, since she wasn't here and all, but she really liked your chocolate chip cookies."

"Oh, good! Lucky for her they weren't your grandma's special recipe, heh heh." He winked at Arnold. "Here, why don't you send her home with the rest of them? And tell her she's welcome to come over for more anytime."

"Sure, Grandpa. Thanks!" Arnold took the half-empty cookie tin and a plate of buttered toast with jam and scurried up the stairs to his room. He knocked lightly, just in case Helga was awake, but there was no response. He opened the door as quietly as he could with his hands full and stepped into the room.

Helga was still asleep, but she had stopped snoring. She had rolled over to the edge of the couch with her arm dangling off the side. She seemed to be mumbling something.

Arnold set the food on his bed and approached Helga curiously. Was she having a bad dream? Maybe he should wake her up…

Just then she nuzzled her face into the pillow and smiled in her sleep, making a contented noise. "Mmm, Arnold, your hair smells so nice… You're so kind and generous, letting me stay with you tonight…"

Arnold's mouth hung open dumbly. _Did she just say my hair smells nice?_

Oblivious to her audience, Helga giggled and murmured something indecipherable. Then suddenly, her brow furrowed and she made a noise that sounded almost like a groan.

"Don't make me go back there, Arnold. Please…no, don't send me away…I can't go back…no, please…Dad, no…"

Arnold watched, horrified, as Helga drew herself up into a tight ball, shielding her face with her arm and making a fearful whimpering sound. What exactly had happened the night before?? He couldn't stand watching her go through this…

"Helga! Helga!" He shook her as gently as he could. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Helga, it's me! Wake up!"

Her arms flailed wildly when he touched her. "No! No! Get off me!!" But at least his shaking was effective. Her flailing brought her out of her nightmare and she sat up, dazed and breathing heavily, her panicked eyes looking around the room in bewilderment.

"Helga, it's okay! You're at my house, remember? You stayed here last night." Helga's wild eyes landed on him, and they seemed to come suddenly into focus.

"Arnold?" Her high-pitched voice sounded simultaneously frightened and relieved.

"You were having a nightmare," he added, as if to explain why he was sprawled on the floor rubbing the side of his head where she had unintentionally conked him with her elbow.

"Oh. Did I…hit you?" _And more importantly, how did you know I was having a nightmare? Criminey, I hope I wasn't talking in my sleep…_

Arnold was a little surprised by her question. It wasn't like her hitting him was anything new. "It's okay, Helga. It was an accident. I was trying to wake you up."

"Oh. S-sorry, Football Head," she said nervously, bringing her knees to her chest and tucking the blanket in around them.

"It's okay," he repeated. He was getting more and more confused. First she was admiring the smell of his hair, then she was trying to get away from something…then she was apologizing for hitting him? What was going on?

As if she suddenly realized how strange she was acting, Helga crossed her arms and scowled at him. "What am I apologizing to you for, anyway? _You're_ the one who woke me up. You d-deserved what you got." She looked away as her voice faltered. Those words seemed to stick in her throat. _Get it together, Pataki!_

"Whatever you say, Helga," he grumbled. There was that familiar hostility he'd been missing…

Helga glared at him. She felt a surge of anger that she couldn't quite explain. "So you're not even gonna defend yourself, huh geek-bait? You're just gonna let me hit you and yell at you and not do anything about it?" Her face felt very hot.

"Look, Helga, it was an accident—even if you _would_ have done it on purpose if you were awake. And even if you're taking it back now, you _did_ apologize, so I accepted your apology. Can we just call a truce? I'm going to be late for school if we keep arguing."

"_You're _gonna be late for school? What about _me?_"

Arnold shot her a pointed look. "I thought you might not feel like going to school today. Since you had such a rough night."

Helga blushed fiercely. _You don't know the half of it, bucko,_ she thought in frustration. The events of the previous night, from its nasty start to its blissful conclusion, flashed through her mind. She couldn't believe she'd been soaking his pajama shirt with her tears just hours ago. She'd never live it down…if only because she wouldn't let herself.

"I brought you some breakfast." Arnold gestured to the plate of toast on his bed. "And Gran-…I mean, _I_ thought you might want to take home the rest of the cookies."

"Wow, cold toast and stale, burnt cookies. You sure know how to treat a gal," she griped. Arnold rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'm going to school. When you're ready to leave, you can show yourself out," he said irritably. Here he was, trying so hard to be nice to her, and as usual she was throwing it back in his face. How could he have thought she might change?

He stalked out of the room and shut the door forcefully behind him. He stood in the hallway for a minute, taking a deep breath. Abruptly, his mind replayed a few highlights from the previous 12 hours: Helga sprawled pitifully on his front steps, sobbing; Helga breaking down in tears when he hugged her; Helga's peaceful face contorting into an expression of fear as she slept, her arms coming up to shield her face from…from what? _"Arnold, no, don't send me away…Dad, no…"_

He closed his eyes and sighed. No matter how she was acting now, something was clearly wrong. She was afraid of something, or someone. She needed help, whether she wanted it or not. And like in her nightmare, he had sent her away. He turned and went back into his room.

"Helga, I—" He stopped short as he stared around the empty room. The plate was still on his bed, nothing left on it but crumbs. The cookie tin was gone. So was Helga.

"How did she…" he wondered aloud. Everything looked as it usually did except for the messy pile of blankets and pillows on his couch. He put a hand on the cushions absentmindedly. They were still warm.

Confused, and feeling more than a little bit guilty, he turned and left again, softly closing the door behind him.

* * *

**A/N:** So how did Helga get out of his room so fast? Simple: Helga is Batman. (Or she could just be hiding in the closet and Arnold is too discombobulated to think to check. You'll have to wait and see.) ^___^


	3. Chapter 3

Helga had just scrambled out the skylight window and pulled it shut behind her when Arnold came back into the room below. Swallowing the last giant bite of toast she had taken, she watched as he called her name and looked around the room in bewilderment. Then he turned, looking rather dejected, and left again.

"Oh, Arnold," she whispered, "could it be that you can't stay angry with me, no matter how hard I try to make you so? Did you come back to tell me you'd changed your mind? That you regret ever releasing me from your embrace?" She sighed. Then she shook her head roughly. "Ugh, I don't have time for this. He wanted me gone, so I'm gone. But where am I gonna go?"

She sat on the secluded rooftop and chewed nervously on one of the cookies Arnold had given her. They _were_ just a little burnt and stale, but they were still some of the best cookies she had ever tasted for some reason. Her brain slowly adjusted to being awake, and her thoughts became clearer. She felt a little better after such a pleasant night's sleep, but nothing could make her problem go away. She was going to have to face it one way or another.

She shivered in the chilly morning air and looked down at her pajamas. "I can't go anywhere like this in broad daylight," she muttered. She turned back to the skylight and grinned. "I'm sure Arnold won't mind if I borrow a sweater...especially since he won't know about it."

She clambered down through the window and came back out a few minutes later wearing one of Arnold's trademark orange-shirt-and-blue-sweater combinations. She was surprised at how well they fit—although the shirt that went almost to Arnold's knees was waist-length on her, and the sleeves of it and the sweater looked ¾-length. From the waist up, they almost created a fashion statement; but the pink-and-purple striped pajama bottoms she still wore made it look more like a disaster.

Not that she cared, of course. She held the sweater up to her nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like the blanket she had snuggled under so happily the previous night. Wearing Arnold's clothes, she felt connected to him somehow. She flashed back to the night before in Arnold's kitchen. It was only the second time in her life she had ever felt so blinded with emotion. At first it was mainly bad stuff...fear, anger, humiliation at being seen crying, frustration, and sadness from a multitude of causes that had built up over the years, all coming out at once. But with every moment that Arnold's arms stayed around her, never flinching, never drawing away in disgust, she had felt the weight on her heart grow lighter. All the bad stuff hadn't disappeared, but it felt a little more bearable. And though she dared not put the feeling into words, she had felt cared for...maybe even loved.

_It's not like it means anything,_ she chided herself. _That do-gooder would offer his shoulder to anyone who wanted to blubber all over it. And yet...it has to mean __**something,**__ right? It at least has to mean that he doesn't __**hate**__ me. He might even consider possibly liking me. And that's only one step away from __**liking**__ me, liking me. There's still hope..._

Clinging to that bright ray of light, she pulled out her locket and gazed at the photo with a fluttering sigh.

....................................................................................................

Gerald was waiting for Arnold when he emerged from his house looking very perturbed.

"Hey, Arnold. What's the matter with you?" Gerald raised a questioning eyebrow as they both started walking.

"I'm…not sure I should tell you," Arnold answered.

"Oooh-kay. Now I _really_ wanna know! C'mon, Arnold, what's buggin' you?"

_It's not like I promised not to tell anyone,_ Arnold argued with himself. _But this is Helga we're talking about. Of course she wouldn't want anyone to know she was crying. She didn't want __**me**__ to know she was crying. But what if she really needs help? I might need help to help her…_

"Spill it, Arnold!"

"Okay, I'll tell you. But you have to swear not to tell anyone. I'm serious!"

"Okay, okay! I swear! What's the big secret?"

"…Helga was at my house last night."

"Helga?!"

"Shhhh!!" Arnold grabbed Gerald's arm and yanked him closer so he could whisper. "Keep it down! I told you not to tell anyone!" Privately, Arnold worried that Helga might still be close enough to hear.

"Sorry, man. But Helga? Helga G. Pataki? What was _she_ doing at your place last night? Lettin' a jar full of cockroaches loose in your room?"

"No, Gerald. She was outside my front door, crying."

"Helga was _crying?!"_ Gerald snorted. "Why are you worried about lettin' anybody hear that? They wouldn't believe you anyway!"

"It's not funny! She was really upset and… she seemed scared. I invited her in and tried to talk to her, and she said something about her parents forgetting her birthday and her dad forgetting her name. And she said something about wishing her dad would apologize for something. But before I could ask what she meant, she started crying again."

"Wow. So what did you do?"

"Well…I kind of gave her a hug and then asked her if she wanted to sleep on my couch," he said in a rush.

Gerald stopped dead in his tracks. "You _hugged_ Helga? And she didn't clobber you? And then you invited her to spend the night?! Wow…you really _are_ worried about her, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. And that's not all." He sighed. "She was talking in her sleep this morning. She was having a nightmare. She was trying to get away from someone, and she said…'No, Dad, no.'"

"Whoa, Arnold. That sounds heavy. Do you think her dad…hits her?"

Arnold's stomach lurched. Of course that theory had been sneaking around in the back of his mind, but he hadn't quite put it into such direct words yet. He knew that some kids didn't have the best families, but he had never known anyone whose parents _hurt_ them. Or at least, he hadn't known he knew anyone like that. _Maybe I really don't know how the world works,_ he thought sadly. More and more of Helga's attitude was beginning to make sense.

"I don't know. Maybe there's some other explanation. But _something_ is definitely going on, and I have to do something. She needs my help."

Gerald looked at him strangely. "You're the nicest guy I know, Arnold, and I know you always wanna help people. But do you hear the way you're talkin' about Helga?"

"What do you mean?"

"'Oh, _I_ have to _do_ something! She _needs_ me!'" Gerald mimicked dramatically. "Are you sure there's nothin' going on besides you wanting to help someone in trouble?"

Something about those words triggered a flash in Arnold's memory. Suddenly he was back on the FTi building again, with the wind and the lightning, and Helga's voice: _"What else are you supposed to do when someone you love is in trouble?!"_

He shook his head and glared at his friend. "No, Gerald, there's not. And I wish you'd take this seriously. Just because I want to help Helga doesn't mean I _like_ her. She's just a…a friend."

"Since when is she your friend? Since she pretended to be blind and made you do stuff for her all day? Since she did nothing but make fun of you while you and I were tryin' to stop Scheck from destroying the neighborhood? Or since she stuck her gum to a spitball and you had to cut it out of your hair, y'know, last week?"

Arnold had almost forgotten that he never told his best friend Deep Voice's secret identity. It was ironic how Arnold had helped Helga hide her good deed, though he never understood why she wanted to. For some reason he just didn't think that secret needed to be told. And yet here he was, sharing what she must certainly consider a shameful secret that really wasn't his to share. He tried to tell himself it was because he was looking out for her, because he wasn't sure what he could do alone; but he still felt a stab of guilt.

"She's not as bad as you think," he said evasively. "People can change. And everyone has good qualities, deep down."

"Whatever you say, man." Gerald still had his suspicions—he could see a familiar glimmer in Arnold's eyes that reminded him of other times Arnold had imagined himself being a hero for a girl he liked—but he recognized the seriousness of what Arnold was telling him. Even a jerk like Helga didn't deserve to be knocked around by her dad, if that's what was happening. It was worth checking out.

"Why don't we go talk to Phoebe?" Gerald added. "She and Helga are pretty tight. Maybe she knows something we don't."

"Yeah…like where Helga might have gone when she ran off this morning."

As the two boys walked to school, Arnold told Gerald the rest of the story; or at least, the parts that seemed necessary to tell.

....................................................................................................

Helga, now comfortably warm and full, clambered down the fire escape and wandered over to the treehouse nestled in Mighty Pete's branches. She needed to think, and no one would bother her there while everyone was in school. She could have a few hours to herself.

She flopped down on a pile of ratty throw pillows and sighed. Her thoughts turned reluctantly to her mother, and her stomach twisted in a knot. What if Bob had kept hitting Miriam after Helga ran? What if her mom was still lying on the floor, beaten and bleeding? Helga's imagination ran away with her, carrying her down dark and twisted tunnels into her worst nightmares. She saw herself going home, opening her front door, and being dragged inside by giant, muscled arms that reached out of an impenetrable blackness. She saw her mom kneeling on the floor, crying, reaching out desperately for help. She saw herself breaking free and running, running into the night like a coward, just as she had done the night before. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks, and she felt like she was choking.

Helga squeezed her eyes shut and fought the rising wave of panic. She was useless like this! She had to control herself; she had to control her fear. Her hands shook as she took out her locket and ran her thumb lightly over Arnold's picture. His gentle eyes and carefree smile almost made her want to smash the locket into pieces. All they did was remind her of how little Arnold could possibly understand about her or her world. But then, they also reminded her of his real eyes that had looked at her with such genuine concern and kindness. His printed smile reminded her of the smile he had given her last night after she said, "Goodnight, Arnold." She thought of his arms around her, how warm and comforting they had been. She could almost imagine that his arms were protecting her, shielding her from those frightening, giant arms and ghoulish cries in her nightmares.

"The nightmare isn't real," she told herself forcefully. "Arnold is real. And yeah, my dad is real and what he did was real, too. But that nightmare isn't real. Focus on reality."

Helga thought about her options. She could go home and sneak in to see what had happened, see where her parents were. She could grab some clothes and her diary and then run away to someplace where Bob would never find her. But then what about her mom? She felt a surge of that guilt-ridden anger again.

"Maybe Miriam should learn to take care of herself," she muttered, hating herself for those words even as they formed in her mind. "What am I supposed to do?! I'm ten! I can't protect her from Bob! I can't even protect myself if I need to…" She trailed off as another fear from the swirling darkness in her nightmares took on a name and a shape. "What if I go back and he hits me, too? What if he did something really bad to Mom, and to keep me from telling anyone he does something even worse to me? Who's going to stop him?"

Then a sharp little voice slunk out from the back of her mind and sunk its teeth into her heart. "Yes, who? After all, _you're_ only ten, and no one has ever been able to stop _you._"

The knot in her stomach drew tight again. "What are you talking about?! I've never been as bad as Bob!"

"Oh, really? Why don't you ask all the kids you've pummeled over the years what _they_ think?" The biting voice seemed to come from a mirror image of herself in her mind, except that this image was…off. Her hair was matted and dirty. Her teeth were unnaturally pointed. Her eyes were piercing and red. Her arms were huge and muscled and hairy…like the ones in her nightmare.

"No! I'm not like that! Yeah, I know I get rough sometimes, but I have to! If I don't show everyone who's boss, I'll get laughed at and ridiculed and _I'll_ end up being the one tossed in a trash can! That's the way the world works—or weren't you paying attention for the past ten years?!"

"Yeah, people can be real jerks," her ugly alter-ego said dismissively. "Look at ol' Football Head! If you hadn't kept him bruised and covered in spitballs ever since preschool, he might have had the nerve to _like_ you or something! Imagine the horror! 'Hi, Helga, it's great to see you! I saved you a seat, Helga! I've always liked that bow, Helga; it matches your dress!"

"Stop it!!" Helga covered her ears, as if that would stop the voice that only she could hear. "I…I… It's not like I ever… I mean, I didn't mean to…"

Like a video montage, Helga's mind replayed memories from her life ever since she met Arnold. She saw herself shoving kids to the ground, throwing blunt objects at people's heads, punching Brainy's nose repeatedly, tripping people…tripping Arnold. Hitting Arnold. Stepping on his feet. "Accidentally" smacking him with various implements. She heard a chorus of his sounds of pain from every little injury she could remember inflicting. And there were a lot of them.

"But…we're kids!! It's not like I ever hit him as hard as Dad hit Mom. And Arnold could fight back! He could stop me if he wanted to!"

"But he won't. He would never hit you back. He wouldn't be Arnold if he did. And besides, why should he have to defend himself from you? I thought you were supposed to love him."

"I do!! I've always loved him!"

"Just the way Bob loves Miriam, huh?"

Helga's mind was silent. Her inner tormentor stared at her with an evil grin of satisfaction. But slowly, the image morphed into her true reflection, and in her mind's eye she stared at her own sorrowful face.

"That's what everyone else sees when they look at me. That monster. That's what Arnold sees. And it's my own fault."

She stared into space, feeling numb inside. She thought about that monster, and she thought about her dad. No matter how many times he called her by her sister's name, or forgot how old she was, or told her she was a disappointment, she had still believed deep down that he loved her. He _had_ to, because all fathers had to love their daughters. Maybe somewhere deep in her mind, she had started seeing his angry outbursts as signs of affection, since they were some of the few times his attention was focused entirely on her. Maybe that's why Arnold had never figured out her secret message contained in every smack, jab, and spitball. Maybe she was speaking a language that he didn't understand—a language she learned from her dad.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. The ugly monster inside her wasn't her creation. It wasn't her fault. It was _Bob's _fault. He made her into that monster—like father, like daughter. "Well, I'm sick of being a monster, Dad. I'm _not_ going to be like you. Not anymore!"

Helga stood and brushed herself off. She wiped her nose on her arm and swiped straggling tears off her cheeks. "I'm better than you, Bob. I'm _better_ than you!!"

Riding a sudden wave of courage, she scrambled down from the treehouse and raced home. She knew now what she had to do.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter took so long for me to post. Hopefully the next one won't take as long. The good news is, I have the rest of the story completely planned out; I just need to write it. It looks like this will be the first fic I actually finish! Huzzah!

A few notes on this chapter: It didn't take Arnold long to figure out that Helga climbed out the skylight; he was just too surprised by how fast she disappeared to follow her. :) Also, it's not said in HA!TM whether Arnold ever tells Gerald the full story about Deep Voice. I thought it made sense for him to keep Helga's secret for multiple reasons, only some of which he is fully conscious of.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Could it be possible?! A real, for serious update?! Yes, finally! I'm so, so sorry this took me so long to finish. Sometimes being a grown-up really eats into my fic-writing time. :P But to make up for the ridiculously long wait, I'm posting the final three chapters at once. Thanks for being so patient! I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!

* * *

As soon as Arnold and Gerald got to school, they went looking for Phoebe. They found her already seated at her desk, ten minutes before the bell.

"Oh! Hello Arnold, Gerald." She smiled shyly at Gerald as she said his name.

Gerald grinned. "What's up, Phoebe?"

Arnold broke in before the conversation turned into lame jokes and flirtation. "Phoebe, have you heard from Helga today?"

Phoebe's eyes widened. "Helga? No, Arnold, I haven't spoken to her since yesterday after school. Is something wrong?"

Arnold wasn't sure where to begin to answer that. "Yeah. Well, I _think_ something's wrong. Actually, I _know_ something's wrong. I'm just not sure what it is."

"What do you mean?"

Gerald interrupted. "Helga showed up at his house last night crying, and Arnold thinks it has something to do with her dad."

"Gerald!" Arnold elbowed him.

"What?? Isn't that a pretty good summary?"

Phoebe gasped. "Helga was crying? What happened, Arnold?"

"I took her inside, made some hot cocoa, and we talked for a while. Then I asked her if she wanted to stay for the night, because she didn't seem to want to go home"—he didn't notice the incredulous smile that Phoebe hid by covering her mouth in a convincing display of concern—"and she said yes, so she slept on my couch. Then this morning, she was talking in her sleep, and she said, 'No, Dad, don't,'" Arnold finished all in one breath.

Phoebe's hidden smile vanished. "Oh no! Are you sure that's what she said? Maybe you misunderstood."

"She was acting like she was having a nightmare, like someone was trying to hurt her. I mean, I don't remember her exact words, but she definitely said…'Dad, no.'"

"Arnold, where's Helga now?"

Arnold's face fell. "I…when she woke up, we kind of argued, and I told her she could leave. I left and then came back to apologize, and she was gone."

Phoebe's brain processed the pieces of Arnold's story at lightning speed. Obviously he was leaving out some details, but she could extrapolate a few things. If Helga had let Arnold see her cry—had even sought him out, it would seem—she must be in a very vulnerable state. Even Phoebe had only rarely seen Helga display such emotion. And Helga hadn't even called her to talk since yesterday. Something very unusual must have happened; something unusually bad.

Arnold spoke again. "Phoebe, you know Helga better than anyone. Do you think…do you think her Dad might have hurt her?"

Phoebe's worry spiraled. "I never had reason to think so, but…I can't say I'm sure he _wouldn't,"_ she murmured.

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

Phoebe's first instinct was to say, "Your roof," but she caught herself. Helga _might_ still be there, but if she was feeling embarrassed about what happened between her and Arnold, she probably would have wanted to get away from there for a while. But would she have gone home if something were so wrong there that she had run to Arnold's in the middle of the night? Where else could she go?

"I'm sorry, Arnold, I really don't know. If something's wrong at home, she could be anywhere. Maybe it's best to start at her house and see if she's there. If she's not, maybe you can find at least find out what's going on there."

"Okay. We'll start at her house, then."

"Wait a minute…what 'we'?" Gerald asked with raised eyebrows.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"Right _now?!_ Arnold, listen to yourself!"

"Look, I don't care if you think I _like-_like Helga just because I'm trying to help her. But I can't just sit in class and do nothing when she might be in trouble!"

"I'll go with you, Arnold," Phoebe interjected. She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, but really, she couldn't help but smile at hearing Arnold talk as if he were leading the charge to Helga's rescue. She pushed any thought of the consequences of skipping school out of her mind. This was her best friend who might be in trouble. If anything was more important than school, this was it.

"Thanks, Phoebe. You coming or not, Gerald?"

Gerald looked from Arnold to Phobe and back a couple of times before heaving a beleaguered sigh. "Alright, alright! I'm comin'! Geez."

………………………………………………………………

Helga careened toward home, unaware that she was racing her three classmates. She wasn't sure what she was going to do or say when she got there—she wasn't even sure what she would find—but a hundred options played in her head like a movie reel as she ran. She refused to focus on any of them. She refused to think. Thinking might distract her from what she had to do.

………………………………………………………………

Arnold, Gerald, and Phoebe silently approached Helga's house, each lost in their own worries. Phoebe was the first to speak as the Pataki residence came into view.

"Well, everything seems quiet," she observed hopefully. What had she been expecting, crime scene tape? Police cars? She wasn't sure, but she was glad neither of those things were anywhere to be seen. "But…Helga's father's car is parked out front. He must have stayed home from work." She exchanged a concerned glance with Arnold.

"It's probably not a good idea to just go up and knock on the door," Arnold said uneasily.

"No," she agreed. "What should we do?"

"I'm not sure, but we should probably stay out of sight for now." Arnold motioned for them to follow him into the alley beside the Pataki house, where they could plan their next move privately.

Just as they disappeared around the corner of the house they heard the muffled sound of sneakers pounding pavement. All three of them rushed to peer around the corner as the footsteps slowed to a stop. Gerald raised an eyebrow. "Arnold, isn't that one of your shirts?"

…………………………………………….

Helga tried to catch her breath as she paused at the foot of her steps. Unaware of her audience, she stared at the front door. _You can do this, Helga old girl,_ she assured herself. She clenched her fists. _There's no monster on the other side of that door. There's just Bob._

Arnold took a step forward. Helga's name was on the tip of his tongue—but Phoebe clapped a hand over his mouth and hauled him back out of sight with more force than he'd have thought possible.

Helga stiffened as she heard a scuffling noise in the shadows, but all was quiet after a moment, and she shook her head. _No distractions. No turning back._ She took a deep breath and continued up the steps.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as they heard the front door open and slam shut, Arnold whirled around to Phoebe.

"What did you do that for?! Her dad is probably waiting for her and we just let her go in alone!"

Surprise flickered on Phoebe's face for just a moment at Arnold's tone, but quickly it was gone. "I'm sorry, Arnold, but Helga is a very private and independent person. If she knew the three of us are here, she'd know that you told us about last night, and she might run off again." _Not to mention she would be very, very angry,_ she thought to herself.

"But what if Bob hurts her?" Arnold's heart pounded as the weight of that possibility suddenly settled on him. "What if she needs help? She shouldn't have to face him alone!"

Phoebe tried not to show how much she shared his worry. "We're not far away, Arnold. We can wait out here, under the window, and listen. If Helga needs help, we're here. But for now, let's let her handle it, okay?"

"Listen to the lady, Arnold," Gerald piped up. "Helga's a big girl. And if she really is in trouble, you can ride in on your white horse and save the day."

Arnold scowled at Gerald, but he knew he and Phoebe were right. Besides, Helga was already inside. It was a moot point now. And all seemed quiet so far.

Then suddenly, he found himself scrambling toward the nearest open window as the sounds of muffled shouting ricocheted around the alley.

……………………………………………………………………

Helga resisted the urge to tiptoe through the dark house. As if she weren't enough of a wreck, now she had to deal with the lights being off and the house being eerily quiet. Defiantly, she stomped into the room where she had last seen her parents together. Taking note of the obvious, she hoped the fact that her mom wasn't still sprawled on the floor was a good sign. For an instant, an innocent part of her wondered if Bob and Miriam had made up already. "Grow up, Pataki," she snarled under her breath. Then she heard a sniffling noise from the kitchen.

Her heart raced as she entered the gloomy kitchen where Miriam was sitting alone at the table, wiping her nose with a tissue. Miriam's puffy eyes widened as her youngest daughter flew across the room and enveloped her in a crushing hug.

"Mom," Helga choked out. She fought back tears. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay, sweetheart." Miriam sounded only slightly less dazed than usual. Helga pulled back and stared at her in disbelief.

"What do you mean, _of course_ you're okay?! I've been worried sick about you! I thought Bob had…I mean, I saw what he did, and then…" She trailed off as she scanned Miriam's face for signs of further abuse. Her face was red and swollen, but was that from crying, or from something else? Was that a bruise on her cheek?

"Mom, we have to get out of here. Grab some clothes and whatever crap you think is valuable and let's go!"

"Oh honey, I'm not going anywhere."

Helga's face reddened. "You're telling me you want stick around after what Bob did? I _saw_ him, Miriam! How can you stay here after he hit you?!"

"Oh, sweetie," Miriam sighed. "Things aren't as simple as that. Your dad never hit me before in his life. He just got carried away, that's all, and it was just a slap…"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this! I can't—"

"Helga."

Helga's blood turned to ice as Bob spoke her name behind her. Her fists clenched involuntarily and her feet had never wanted to run so badly. But she forced herself to turn around.

"Bob." She managed to keep her voice from shaking.

"Helga, I…I'm sorry for what you had to see—"

"Sorry?" Like a lock yielding to the turn of a key, Helga's fear gave way to rage. "You're _sorry?!_ That's all you have to say?! Sorry isn't good enough, _Dad!_ You should have said you were _sorry_ a long time ago!! You're nothing but a bully and a coward! You've always been a bully and a coward! And when Mom finally stop taking your crap for once, you couldn't stand it—you had to remind her who's boss!" Helga shook all over, hearing those words she had used not long ago to describe herself. Tears stung her eyes again, but she was too angry to let them fall now. "Well, you're _not_ the boss of us, Bob! You can't make me stay here, and Mom's gonna come with me whether she likes it or not. I'm not leaving her here with you."

She glared at her father with all the hatred and resentment she had been storing up for years. Although she had to look up at him, he had never seemed so small to her. His face had turned redder with every word she said, whether from anger or shame she wasn't sure. She expected that at any moment he would stride across the room and knock her to the floor the way he had done to her mother, but she no longer cared. Let him do it; he would only do it once.

But instead, he sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. When he looked at her again, she saw that his eyes were red too.

"I'm sorry, Helga. I know you don't believe me, but I really am sorry." His voice was calmer than she had ever heard it. She didn't know if she should be comforted or terrified. "I swear to ya, Helga, I never hit your mom before last night. Never even thought of it, and I wasn't thinking when I did it. And that's the problem. I never thought I'd get so mad that I'd let myself do something like that to my own wife…"

Miriam cleared her throat. "Helga, I know it's hard to understand right now, but your father and I talked all night while you were gone, and we're going to try to make things work. We're going to start seeing a counselor together."

Helga looked from Miriam to Bob and back again. She felt sick to her stomach. She had been prepared for the worst, but she hadn't been prepared for this.

"So you're just gonna 'make it work,' huh Miriam? What about me? What if I don't want to _make it work?_ Or do you even care? I mean, I was gone all night and you didn't even come looking for me, did you?" She suddenly felt very hollow.

"Helga…"

"You know what? Forget it. You and Bob can 'make it work' all you want. Just don't expect me to stick around for it."

Before either of them could stop her, Helga stalked out of the room and toward the door. Bob had enough sense not to reach for her as she passed him.

"Let her go, dear," Miriam said quietly. "She'll come back when she's ready. She always seems to take care of herself."

* * *

**A/N: **I don't mean to imply any moral lesson by having Helga's parents decide to stay together. I wrote it that way because, after a lot of thought, that's how I thought those characters would deal with the situation, regardless of what I or anyone else thinks about that choice. Just wanted to get that out in the open!


	6. Chapter 6

Arnold, Phoebe, and Gerald crouched below the kitchen window in silence. None of them knew what to say. Arnold's head was spinning.

"I knew Helga's family was complicated," Phoebe finally whispered, "but I had no idea it was like this."

Arnold stared blankly at the wall in front of him. "Poor Helga," he murmured. "No wonder she's…the way she is." He thought of the many times he had missed his own parents and been jealous of all the kids who had it so much better than he did, including Helga. He had never understood how she could talk so snidely about her family, why she didn't appreciate what she had...

Phoebe looked at him intently. "You know, Arnold, you've never understood how I could be friends with Helga because she's so rude and pushy. The reason is because I knew she didn't mean to be that way. She's different when she's not around other people. She's done a lot of kind things for people, Arnold. She's even done kind things for you."

"She has?" Arnold looked at Phoebe in confusion. Was she talking about Deep Voice? Did she even know about that? Maybe there was something else...?

"Yes, she has. But it's not my place to tell you about them. I've said too much already. I just…I wanted you to know, even though she doesn't want you to."

Arnold moved toward the street and looked around for Helga, but she had already disappeared. He took a step, but felt a strong grip on his arm.

"Where are you going?" Phoebe demanded.

"To find Helga."

"Arnold, I really think she wants to be alone right now. You should really just—"

"No, Phoebe. She shouldn't _have_ to be alone. She needs to know that somebody cares about her right now."

Gerald cleared his throat. "Are you sayin' _you_ care about her, Arnold?"

Arnold gave him a defiant look. "Yeah, Gerald, I do. She's my friend. Or at least, I'm _her_ friend. If she wants to yell at me and tell me to get lost, fine. But I have to at least try to talk to her."

With that, Arnold ran off in the direction of the wharf. Without really thinking, he had an idea of where Helga might be.

…………………………………………………….

Gerald and Phoebe watched him go, Gerald looking bemused, Phoebe looking hopeful.

"Mmm-mmm_-mmm,_" Gerald grumbled, shaking his head. "That boy is too nice for his own good. He has no idea what he's gettin' himself into."

"Perhaps. But doesn't that also mean he could be getting into something good?" Phoebe smiled at Gerald and blushed when he grinned back at her.

"_You're_ too nice too, you know. But maybe you're right." He bumped his fist lightly against her arm, and she smiled wider.

"I usually am."

................................................................

Arnold was out of breath by the time he reached the pier. This was the place where he and Helga had both come to get away from their families the previous Thanksgiving. There was something about the view of the water that was calming and comforting. It was constant; the details might change from day to day, but you could always come back and know that the sky and the water were still going to be there, reaching for each other.

He looked toward the end of the pier, squinting against the glare of the midday sun. He could see a dark shape against the horizon.

"What do you want, Football Head?" Yep, the shape was definitely Helga.

Arnold walked out to where she sat on the edge of the pier. Her legs were kicking aimlessly out over the water.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay after--" He suddenly decided it was best if she didn't know he and the others had been spying on her. "--after this morning. I know I was...kind of rude to you before you left. I was going to come back and apologize, but you were already gone."

"Why bother? You know I'm just gonna call you a dweeb for tracking me down just to apologize." Helga normally would have let him think she deserved his apology, but this time it felt like if she did that, she'd be admitting he had hurt her feelings.

Arnold sat down beside her, leaving a good foot of space between them. "Listen, Helga...about last night--"

"Criminey! You're never gonna let me forget about that, are you? I bet you think that just because I had something in my eyes and couldn't get them to stop watering, that I'm not really as tough as you thought. Well, listen, Buster--"

"No, Helga, _you_ listen," Arnold interrupted. "You shouldn't be ashamed that you were upset. It's okay to be upset sometimes. But since it matters so much to you, I promise not to tell anyone else about last night. You can trust me, Helga."

"Wait a minute...what do you mean, 'anyone _else_'?"

"Um. Well...I kind of told Phoebe."

Helga groaned. _But it's just Pheebs,_ she thought. _I probably would have told her anyway. Still, it was _my_ secret to confide, not his!_

"Oh, so I can _trust_ you, huh? Didn't take you long to go blabbing to Pheebs though, did it? You expect me to believe you're not gonna tell your old friend Geraldo? Why don't you go announce it over the school loudspeaker while you're at it?!"

"Okay, I might have mentioned to Gerald that you were at my house, but he's my best friend, Helga! And I was worried about you! I needed him and Phoebe to help me look for you."

"Well, you found me, Football Head. Now you can buzz off and leave me alone." Inside, she sighed a trembling sigh. _He was worried about me! Ahhh..._

Arnold took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had to focus on what he wanted to say. _Don't let her distract you with her temper...you know she's just trying to get you to leave..._

"Helga." He held up his hand before she could say anything. "I won't tell anyone else, I promise. But that's not what I wanted to say." He inhaled deeply. "I wanted to tell you that no matter how mean you may be to me most of the time, I know that you still have feelings. You can still be hurt, even if you hate to admit it. That doesn't make you weak; it just makes you human."

He expected Helga to interrupt him at any moment, to smack him in the back of the head, maybe even shove him into the frigid water (which he glanced at nervously). But she remained silent. He looked up to see her staring at him with an unreadable expression. He quickly plunged ahead while he had the chance.

"Helga, you're pretty much the strongest, toughest person I know. But you still need a friend sometimes, just like anyone else. And even though I might be crazy for saying this...I'll always be here for you if you need me."

Helga was stunned. She knew Arnold was kind and caring beyond belief, but deep down she had convinced herself that he would never actually see anything beyond her blustery exterior. She daydreamed, sure, but with all the times he had shown disgust at the very idea that she might _like him _like him—the way he had wigged out when she finally confessed her deepest feelings and kissed him—she had pretty much given up hope. Her first instinct was to tell him to take a hike and toss him into the nearest trash can for daring to stir her heart to hope again. But after everything that had happened, she realized she really didn't want to do that at all.

She stared out at the water, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Okay, she wasn't going to clobber him. So what _was_ she supposed to do?

Arnold glanced at her warily and saw that she wasn't even looking at him anymore. He wondered if she had even been listening.

"...Thanks, Football Head."

A smile crept over his face as he turned to her. She kept her eyes on the water, but the corners of her mouth were turned up just slightly. The sun lit up her blue eyes, and he noticed that her hair looked shiny and soft. _Wow, Helga_..._I'm usually too busy getting out of your way to notice how pretty you are._ His stomach flip-flopped at the thought, but the moment was so unexpected and pleasant, he couldn't be bothered to feel weird about it.

Helga cleared her throat. "You never asked me why I was...c-crying."

The weight of her admitting to that was not lost on Arnold. "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to. But it's okay if you don't."

"Good. Because I don't."

"Okay."

Part of her ached to tell him. There was no one in the world more trustworthy, besides Phoebe. But if she told him, she might cry again, and then he might start to think she really wasn't so tough after all, and then who knew what would happen? No, her heart was too raw to expose to him now, after fighting so hard for years to protect it.

"Not gonna happen, Football Head. Wouldn't want to ruin my air of mystery." She smirked.

Arnold rolled his eyes, but it was just for show. He found himself hoping that someday she'd trust him enough to open up to him—and a strange little part of him felt thrilled at the prospect.

"Whatever you say, Helga."

* * *

Thanks so much for all the reviews and for sticking with me through this story! I love writing Arnold and Helga, and I'm certain I'll be writing more of them in the future. ;)


End file.
